I have been riding the CTTransit going to-and-from work everyday for most of the last three months of last year. The experience is very interesting and affords me the opportunity of entertainment and rest from the stress of work. I have met strange people (I mean, peculiar) and I have encountered insanely ordinary things as well. The most interesting thing I have seen, however, is that whenever a passenger enters the bus, they scan the vehicle for unoccupied seats or familiar faces. The later option usually works with youthful riders and the more affable adults. The former option is more popular, partly because everybody just wants to mind their business and get to their destinations.
Occasionally, I get to talk with other riders. These conversations are often about bus scheduling and timetables and changes in the daily temperature and so on. Very banal. On rare days, I go deeper and make small talk. For instance, the other day, I met Sash, an aspiring actress on the same route as mine. I had met Sash a few weeks before, but that was an ordinary encounter when the both of us were inconvenienced by a delayed bus. Back then, Sash and I exchanged the usual weather conversation, commenting mostly about the dipping winter temperatures. My encounter with Sash may have been forgotten like many others I have had with other disgruntled riders, but she was somewhat different. She was more personal.
On other days, I just look around the bus at the riders, and try to read their faces. Some are happy, others are struggling to keep half-smiles. Some just look out of the windows, staring into the air, while others fixate face front; unmoving and unaffected by anything. Others just ramble on and on about their life’s crises. Once, one rider was angrily complaining on the phone about her a discrepancy in her unemployability papers. She went on about meeting her lawyers, the red-tape at the VA, and other stuff I do not fully recall. One another day, one rider was giving advice to another on managing the flu: “My doctor said I take the syrup, and it worked fine,” she was saying. Then, she added, “but be careful, it is laced with cocaine, so tell her to go easy on it!” I was scandalized.
A few days ago, I was seated directly opposite a young girl, of college-age. I kept stealing looks at her direction because I was afraid to have her catch me looking at her directly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that she was doing the same thing at me, and I smiled and looked down. I have heard of this sort of thing happening in bars, where ladies get progressively more beautiful with every ounce of alcohol men take take, but the same thing just happened right there in the bus that day. The only difference is that I was sober, and it wasn’t that her beauty increased but my mental image of her kept refreshing and resolving better by the minute. The mind does indeed play games, some very dangerous.
My bus rides continue to keep me refreshed everyday after work and entertained every morning to work. However, sometimes I feel I should complain to the city transport authority for when I miss the bus by a minute or a few seconds. Not once have I had to run up to the bus, only to have it pull away as I reached its side. I remember one time I had to run after the bus all the way from my house to downtown, about 3 miles of road, because it looked like I could catch up to it at the next light. “The next intersection,” I encouraged my leg muscles. Every time I reached the next stop, the light changed, and the bus moved. But I never gave up. I run after it, waving my hands back-and-forth like a maniac. The bus driver must have enjoyed watching my indomitable determination because he never seemed to realize I was running after the bus. Or, perhaps, just perhaps, the bus driver never paid attention to the rear-view mirror. After a few stops, I was running out of my breath but a kind driver who had watched me with interest took pity on my fatiguing legs and offered me a ride. The idea was for him to allow me to catch up faster with the bus, while letting me rest awhile. In retrospect, and with no ingratitude to the kind man, it was a bad idea because we could never catch up without illegal overtaking. Besides, we had at least two cars between us and the CTTransit vehicle. In the end, I arrived downtown riding the car, but hoping to transfer to the bus. I never did.
